John Glenday

“This is my formula for the fall of things:we come to a river we always knew we'd have to cross.It ferries the twilight down through fieldworksof corn and half-blown sunflowers.The only sounds, one lost cicada calling to itselfand the piping of a bird that will never have a name.Now tell me there is a pausewhere we know there should be an end;then tell me you too imagined it this waywith our shadows never quite touching the riverand the river never quite reaching the sea.”

“and the word lost for a single breath, as I lie against you; I promise everything that ever was will grow alive again: the first man in his sudden ignorance spits a sour apple whole, turns to her, who will be no more than an ache in the bones of his heart, as you are for me; for this breath, in my arms, the rain falling through the moment's light; then let me rest for one day, for the strength to unmake myself; the beasts of the earth and the great whales, to shift continents into oceans, to take down the firmament and blink into the failing light, the failing darkness for a moment's breath, a moment's touch, brushing your heart like this, as all things fall back into themselves, leaving nothing in the beginning but the word.”

“We carry the dead in our handsas we might carry water - with a careful,reverential tread.There is no other way.How easily, how easily their faces spill.”